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The First-Born of Egypt'' 
^^The Dance of Death'' 



BY 

ROBERT BROWNING 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1913 

^11 rights reser'ved 



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The First-Born of Egypt'' 
^^The Dance of Death'' 



BY 

ROBERT BROWNING 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

yf// rights reserved 






•, /^ 



Copyright, 1913, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 

Set up and electrotyped. Published December, 1913. 



DEC 24 I9i3 



Norixjooli i^rfss 

J. S. Gushing Co. — Berw ick & Smith Co, 

Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



©CI.A:^60849 V 



THE DANCE OF DEATH 



4182 



THE FIRST-BORN OF EGYPT.i 

That night came on in Egypt with a step 
So calmly stealing in the gorgeous train 
Of sunset glories flooding the pale clouds 
With liquid gold, until at length the glow 
Sank to its shadowy impulse and soft sleep 
Bent o'er the world to curtain it from life — 
Vitality was hushed beneath her wing — 
Pomp sought his couch of purple — care- 
worn grief 
Flung slumber's mantle o'er him. At that 
hour 
10 He in whose brain the burning fever fiend 
Held revelry — his hot cheek turn'd awhile 
Upon the cooler pillow. In his cell 
The captive wrapped him in his squalid 

rags, 
And sank amid his straw. Circean sleep ! 
Bathed in thine opiate dew false hope 

vacates 
Her seat in the sick soul, leaving awhile 
Her dreamy fond imaginings — pale fear 
His wild misgivings, and the warm life- 
springs 
Flow in their wonted channels — and the 
train — 
20 The harpy train of care forsakes the heart. 
Was it the passing sigh of the night wind 
Or some lorn spirit's wail — that moaning 

cry 
That struck the ear ? 'tis hushed — no ! 

it swells on 
On — as the thunder peal when it essays 
To wreck the summer sky — that fearful 

shriek 
Still it increases — 'tis the dolorous plaint, 
The death cry of a nation — 

It was a fearful thing — that hour of night. 
I have seen many climes, but that dread 

hour 
30 Hath left its burning impress on my soul 
Never to be erased. Not the loud crash 
When the shuddering forest swings to the 

red bolt 
Or march of the fell earthquake when it 

whelms 
A city in its yawning gulf, could quell 
That deep voice of despair. Pharaoh arose 
Startled from slumber, and in anger sought 
The reason of the mighty rushing throng 
At that dark hour around the palace gates, 
— And then he dashed his golden crown 

away 
40 And tore his hair in frenzy when he knew 
That Egypt's heir was dead — from every 

home. 
The marbled mansion of regality 
To the damp dungeon's walls — gay 

pleasure's seat 
And poverty's lone hut, that cry was heard 
As guided by the Seraph's vengeful arm 
The hand of death held on its withering 

course. 
Blighting the hopes of thousands. — 

1 From the Ms. on the same sheet of paper 
as the letter from Sarah Flower and in her 
handwriting. 



I sought the street to gaze upon the grief 
Of congregated Egypt — there the slave 
Stood by him late his master, for that hour 50 
Made vain the world's distinctions — - for 

could wealth 
Or power arrest the woe ? — Some were 

tnere 
As sculptured marble from the quarry late 
Of whom the foot first in the floating dance, 
The glowing cheek hued with the deep'ning 

flush 
In the night revel — • told the young and 

gay. 
No kindly moisture dewed their stony eye, 
Or damp'd their ghastly glare — for they 

felt not : 
The chain of torpor bound around the heart 
Had stifled it for ever. Tears stole down 60 
The furrow'd channels of those withered 

cheeks 
Whose fount had long been chill 'd, but 

that night's term 
Had loosed the springs — for 'twas a fearful 

thing 
To see a nation's hope so blasted. One 
Press'd his dead child unto his heart — no 

spot 
Of livid plague was nigh — no purple cloud 
Of scathing fever — and he struck his brow 
To rouse himself from that wild phantasy 
Deeming it but a vision of the night. 
/ marked one old man with his only son 70 
Lifeless within his arms — his withered hand 
Wandering o'er the features of his child 
Bidding him [wake] from that long dreary 

sleep, 
A nd lead his old blind father from the crowd 
To the green meadows — but he answer'd 

not; 
And then the terrible truth flash'd on his 

brain. 
And when the throng roU'd on some bade 

him rise 
And cling not so unto the dead one there. 
Nor voice nor look made answer — he was 

gone. 
But one thought chain'd the powers of each 80 

mind 
Amid that night's felt horror — each one 

owned 
In silence the dread majesty — the might 
Of Israel's God, whose red hand had 

avenged 
His servants' cause so fearfully — 



THE DANCE OF DEATPI. 

"And as they footed it around. 
They sang their triumphs o'er mankind !" 

dc Stael. 
Fever. 

Bow to me, bow to me ; 
Follow me in mj^ burning breath, 
Which brings as the simoom destruction 
and death. 



THE DANCE OF DEATH 



1S2 



Mv spirit lives in the hectic glow 
When I bid the life streams tainted flow 
In the fervid sun's deep brooding beam 
When seething vapours in volumes steam, 
And they fall — the young, the gay — as 

the flower 
'Neath the fiery wind's destructive power. 
This day I have gotten a noble prize — 
There was one who saw the morning rise, 
And watch'd fair Cynthia's golden streak 
10 Kiss the misty mountain peak, 

But I was there, and my pois'nous flood 
Envenom'd the gush of the youth's warm 

blood. 
They hastily bore him to his bed, 
But o'er him death his swart pennons 

spread : 
The skilled leech's art was vain. 
Delirium revelled in each vein. 
I mark'd each deathly change in him ; 
I watch'd his lustrous eye grow dim, 
The purple cloud on his deep swol'n brow, 
20 The gathering death sweat's chilly flow, 
The dull dense film obscure the eye. 
Heard the last quick gasp and saw him die. 

Pestilence. 

My spirit has past on the lightning's wing 
O'er city and land with its withering; 
In the crowded street, in the flashing hall 
My tramp has been heard : they are lonely 

all. 
A nation has swept at my summons away 
As mists before the glare of day. 
See how proudly reigns my hand 
30 In the black'ning heaps on the surf-beat 

strand 
[Where] 1 the rank grass grows in deserted 

streets 
[Where] the terrified stranger no passer 

meets 
[ ] around the putrid air 

[ ] lurid and red in Erinnys stare 

Where silence reigns, where late swell'd the 

lute, 
Thrilhng lyre, mellifluous flute. 
There if my prowess ye would know 
Seek ye — and bow to your rival low. 

Ague. 

Bow to me, bow to me ; 
My influence is in the freezing deeps 
Where the icy power of torpor sleeps, 
40 W^here the frigid waters flow 
My marble chair is more below ; 
When the Grecian brav'd the Hellespont's 

flood 
How did I curdle his fever'd blood. 
And sent his love in tumescent wave 
To meet with her lover an early grave. 
When Hellas' victor sought the rush 

1 Papers removed where sealed. 



Of the river to lave in its cooling gush, 

Did he not feel my iron clutch 

When he fainted and sank at my algid 

touch ? 
These are the least of the trophies I 5° 

claim — 
Bow to me then, and own my fame. 

Madness. 

Hear ye not the gloomy yelling 

Or the tide of anguish swelling, 

Hear ye the clank of fetter and chain, 

Hear ye the wild cry of grief and pain. 

Followed by the shuddering laugh 

As when fiends the life blood quaff ? 

See ! see that band. 

See how their bursting ej^eballs gleam. 

As the tiger's when crouched in the jungle's 60 

lair. 
In India's sultry land. 
Now they are seized in the rabies fell, 
Hark ! 'tis a shriek as from fiends of hell ; 
Now there is a plaining moan. 
As the flow of the sullen river — 
List ! there is a hollow groan. 
Doth it not make e'en you to shiver ? 
These are they struck of the barbs of my 

quiver. 
Slaves before my haughty throne. 
Bow then, bow to me aione. 7° 

Consumption. 

'Tis for me, 'tis for me ; 

Mine the prize of Death must be ; 

My spirit is o'er the young and gay 

As on snowy wreaths in the bright noonday. 

They wear a melting and vermeille flush 

E'en while I bid their pulses hush. 

Tracing o'er their dying brow 

With the passions of health's best roseate 

glow 
When the lover watches the full dark eye 
Robed in tints of ianthine dye, 80 

Beaming eloquent as to declare 
The passions that deepen the glories there. 
The frost in its tide of dazzling whiteness. 
As Juno's brow of chrystal brightness, 
Such as the Grecian's hand would give 
When he bade the sculptured marble 

"live," 
The ruby suffusing the Hebe cheek. 
The pulses that love and pleasure speak 
Can his fond heart claim but another day. 
And the loathsome worm on her form shall 90 

prey. 
She is scathed as the tender flower, 
When mildews o'er its chalice lour. 
Tell me not of her balmy breath. 
Its tide shall be shut in the fold of death ; 
Tell me not of her honied lip. 
The reptile's fangs shall its fragrance sip. 
Then will I say triumphantly 
Bow to the deadliest — bow ta me ! 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



014 388 918 n 




